


Dark Souls Wasn't This Hard

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety Attacks, Includes Art, M/M, lots of video game references, phonophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-06-07 15:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6811774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kenma should have known better than to buy a bootleg game. Having accidentally summoned the final boss from the game, he's now stuck living with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'd like to apologize first and foremost to the mobile users whose page format is probably all messed up and annoying thanks to me adding my art. also i tried to do my research so i could write kenma living in a 1k apartment, but i have never lived in japan before so please let me know if i wrote or illustrated something inaccurately, the same going for the phonophobia. enjoy, my dudes

In hindsight, Kenma really should’ve known better than to buy a bootleg game. Though, in his own defence, it was the cheapest game the site had to offer and Kenma has never heard of it before.

He slides the cartridge into the old game console his mother gave him last week. She used to play it in her childhood, she had said, and while she couldn’t find any games along with the dusty console she still wanted Kenma to keep it in his new apartment for her. He wants to play at least one game on it, for her sake, before he goes back to playing more modern games.

When the game doesn’t load properly, Kenma takes the cartridge out and blows into it a bit before slotting it back into place. He has to do it a couple more times when that doesn’t work, but eventually he gets to the save files without the game freezing.

The gameplay of it is very much like the early Legend of Zelda games, and Kenma’s pretty sure he hears the theme music, except in a higher pitch, in one of the areas. The game has many flaws--occasional typos, NPCs that go missing sometimes, and glitches that nearly crash the system--but Kenma can’t really expect the best from a bootleg game. The sprites are very pixelated, but he’s able to make out that the hero’s clothes are meant to resemble an owl rather than Link, the same going for the Navi-like guide at the hero’s side (though the guide’s personality resembles Fi from Skyward Sword far more than Navi, he thinks). The game isn’t hard at all, and before Kenma realizes it he’s traversed through all twenty levels and reached the final boss within three hours.

In all honesty, the final boss isn’t even close to intimidating. It could be because the batch of pixels forming the boss is the same size as the protagonist, or how the castle it resides in isn’t very morbid, or how the person who coded the unlicensed game gave the final boss a full name, as if “Kuroo Tetsurou” hasn’t destroyed several villages and is just an ordinary neighbour. Kenma doesn’t feel an ounce of apprehension as he skims over the villain’s cringey dialogue.

_“Ohoho? What do we have here?”_

_“Did you come waltzing in here expecting me to just surrender, Mr. Hero? As if!”_

He’s heard similar words from dozens of other antagonists, of course. Kenma sighs. The inability to skip or speed up conversations really tests his patience, and mashing the A button doesn’t quicken the pace of the text appearing one character at a time in the dialogue box.

_“Y’know, I had good reason for wrecking those villages. Maybe you’re the bad guy here for trying to stop me.”_

_“Are you even strong enough to fight me? Maybe you and your mommy over here should just go home now, lest you be late for dinner.”_

_“You really wanna fight the feared Kuro Tetsurou? Fine, alright. Bring it.”_

Kenma notices the missing “O” from the boss’s surname and wonders if it was just another typo or if the bootlegger intentionally made the pun, since--from what Kenma can make out--Kuroo’s sprite has a mess of black pixels for hair, or horns; whatever the oddly-shaped thing on his head is. Either way, it is amusing and makes Kuroo Tetsurou even less menacing.

The boss fight begins, Kuroo’s double health bar making a flashy entrance on screen. He makes the first move, a hack-and-slash attack at the owlish hero, and takes out a third of Kenma’s HP. Kenma doesn’t hesitate to melee him, simply spamming the B button while in close range of the boss, the protagonist’s katana stunning him long enough for another attack. It’s extremely easy until Kuroo’s health is at one half of his last HP bar and he unleashes a magical attack, throwing Kenma’s character away and nearly killing him.

Kenma relents and decides to back off for a moment. He opens his item menu, which pauses the fight, and quickly scrolls through his item pages for a potion. He scrolls too quickly though, and accidentally uses a cat bell, a side quest item, instead of the potions he had stored. Kenma inwardly curses. Kuroo had been in the middle of another attack when he paused with the item menu, which will resume now that Kenma’s selected an item.

Except it doesn’t resume. Kenma’s not even sure what, exactly, is happening, but the screen freezes after the item menu disappears, emitting a broken, high-pitched sound that spikes Kenma’s anxiety. Many pixels from both the characters and the setting are glitching about. Kenma frowns confusedly at the screen, straightening his back from where he sits in front of his television. None of the glitches he’s encountered were this bad. What if he loses all his progress because of one mindless mistake?

Kenma lightly smacks the old console. He doesn’t want to destroy his mother’s old gaming system, but just tapping the device isn’t helping the weird occurrence on screen. In the corner of his eye, Kenma notices something off about the grey console. He turns his attention from the still-glitching screen to the box and his heart skips a beat.

The game console is smoking--lightly, but Kenma is still alarmed to see smoke escaping it. He scrambles to open up the console, desperately blowing on it as his fingers slip constantly while trying to remove a panel from the overheating box.

No, no, no, _no,_ Kenma thinks. He gives up blowing away the smoke and bites his lip, fingers still frantically struggling with the box. He really shouldn’t have bought a stupid bootleg game. He hadn’t thought that the game would waste three hours of his night, ruin his mother’s old game console, and potentially set off the smoke alarm in his tiny 1K apartment. I’m so stupid, he thinks.

He yelps when the console suddenly becomes too hot, nearly burning his fingers, and drops it, scrambling back a few feet. He’s about to stand, to go get a cloth, to unplug the system, to get help, to do _something_ , when a loud bang erupts from the console. His hands instinctively cover his ears, pulling at his dyed hair, while he shuts his eyes, brows knitting together and teeth gnawing at his bottom lip again.

If Kenma was anxious earlier, he’s fucking terrified now.

The room is quiet for moments. Kenma can only hear his own laboured breathing, and that’s all he wants to hear. He still needs a few more quiet moments to regain his bearings...or maybe a few hours.

“Where am I?”

Kenma immediately starts, eyes snapping wide open as he lifts his head to see a large figure towering over him.

It’s a human. A human who is posed as if frozen in mid-attack: right arm outstretched in front of him, left leg kicked back, body leaning forward precariously. A human with black hair sticking out in angles hair shouldn’t stick out in; a human with eyes that scream mischief but are currently wide open in surprise. Right there, in Kenma’s small, one-room apartment, is a man who looks around his age, lean chest bare and graffitied with sparse black tattoos, wearing armoured baggy pants, still paused in that awkward pose, and looking down at Kenma’s curled-up form with utmost surprise and confusion in his eyes.

Painfully, Kenma feels his heart start to beat again. He never noticed it stop, but now it’s pounding far too quickly and Kenma can feel the tell-tale perspiration of anxiety as he stares back up to the stranger. He tries to say “Get out,” and “Who are you?" and “How the fuck did you get into apartment?” or at least scream but none of the words come out of his mouth. He’s so afraid, so nervous, that he can only make embarrassing wheezing sounds right in front a guy that just broke into his apartment. His hands are noticeably trembling, and he knows he looks scared. He feels pathetic.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” the stranger asks, dropping from his stance.

Kenma crawls backward a couple feet. He stares up at the intruder, still scared, although the strange guy is looking down at him with concern in his eyes along with the initial surprise and confusion. Kenma’s wheezing stops, but he still shakes like an earthquake.

“Oh my god, are you alright there, kid? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” The stranger runs his hand through his messy black hair but then drops it quickly, instead holding both his hands up in a sign of surrender. “I swear, I don’t know what happened or what I’m doing here. I’ll be on my way as soon as I figure out where I am. Promise.”

And that’s when the stranger actually looks around the place. His eyes glance around quickly, taking in Kenma’s tiny apartment, which is relatively messy. The sheets on his futon are a mess, but they are plain and clean--the same going for his shelf of video games in the corner, which has discs out of their cases littered all over the place, and the dozen-or-so game controllers strewn around the floor. Kenma feels embarrassed that his room is a mess the moment someone tries to break into his apartment.

“Where am I?” the stranger repeats, looking back down at Kenma.

Kenma has to take several moments to keep his composure under control and find his voice again, several attempts at speaking ending up in failure. The messy-haired intruder waits patiently.

“My apartment,” Kenma says, voice cracking.

“Nice apartment,” the guy replies.

Kenma nods. “Thanks,” he says, still feeling tense, even more so now that the guy seems to be initiating small talk and both their voices are low.

“Where is your apartment located?” the stranger asks.

“Tokyo.”

For many moments, they are both quiet, just staring at each other. The stranger is the one who breaks the silence.

“Where is Tokyo?”

“What are you doing here?” Kenma asks. He can feel his voice and breathing steadying out, his heart slowing down gradually. “How did you get in here? What are you even wearing?”

The stranger looks down at his black baggy pants and bare chest. “What do you mean, what am I wearing?” He looks back up, giving Kenma a once-over. “The fuck is on your shirt?”

Kenma glances down at his wrinkled Super Mario t-shirt. How could the guy think _he_ was the strangely-dressed one here? Kenma’s face is sour when he looks back up at the utterly weird, completely confusing stranger.

“Anyway,” the stranger says, “I don’t know how I got here; I already said that. I was just fighting some asshole, there was a bang, and now I’m here. How far away is Tokyo from my castle?”

“Your...castle?” Kenma raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah. You know, the one on Mount Death,” says the intruder, trying to accentuate his words with ridiculous hand gestures. “Damn, how far is Tokyo for you to not know who I am? I thought you were scared of me because...well, y’know. But now it seems I’m the nervous one here.”

The stranger chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. Even though Kenma is even more confused now, and maybe getting a little irritated, he knows that laugh very well. It’s the laugh people use when they are trying to make the atmosphere less tense, to appear more welcoming. Hinata and Lev, the two most energetic people in his life, would always do that when they first met.

It’s then that he realizes Mount Death was the last stage, the boss fight, in the bootleg game he was playing. This stranger is absolutely messing with him, Kenma concludes.

“G-get out,” Kenma stutters, furrowing his brow and trying to be strict. He doesn’t know this man, nor does he want to know this weirdo. “I don’t care how you got here anymore. I’ll call the authorities if you don’t leave.”

“Whoa, whoa, chill out,” says the weirdo, his hands going back up in surrender. “You still haven’t told me how to get back. I’ve never even heard of ‘Tokyo’ before, so how am I supposed to find my way around?”

“That’s not my problem. Get out.” Kenma can feel his anxiety acting up again, and he really, really does not need that right now. He lowers his head to hide how terribly he’s clenching his teeth.

“But where do I go?”

“I’ll call the police and they’ll help you, or whatever. It’s not my problem,” he repeats.

The stranger snorts. “Yeah, I don’t think those guys will like seeing Kuroo Tetsurou very much.”

“Get out.”

“Look, man, I don’t even know--”

“Get out!” Kenma wheezes. He just can’t yell, and wheezing is most definitely not strict. He’s weak and small compared to the towering stranger. In this moment, he is too vulnerable.

It’s quiet again, but this is not the awkward silence it was earlier. Kenma refuses to lift his head, to look up and see the stranger’s anger. He’s probably going to get robbed and murdered tonight.

“Okay,” he hears. The stranger sounds quiet, considerate. A few seconds later, he hears his apartment door open and close.

Kenma stays curled up in the silence for god knows how long. He has to be dreaming. There’s no way someone could just break into his apartment like that, and it’s downright impossible that the trespasser actually came from the video game. Kenma needs to improve the security in his small apartment, even though he had thought it would be a one in a million chance that someone would choose his to break into. One in a million chance or not, however, he needs tighter security to protect his extensive gaming collection, never mind his life.

Eventually, Kenma feels himself calming down. After he’s had a few more moments--or hours, he doesn’t know--he gets up and searches the one-room apartment. He checks the storage closet, the bathroom that sits opposite of the tiny kitchen lining the hallway to the front door, and even the shoe closet, to make sure that the strange man is actually gone. When Kenma sees that the front door is unlocked, he relaxes and locks it again. No more weird, final-boss-claiming intruder.

He walks back into the main room and looks back to his mother’s old game console. It is no longer smoking, but lying open, panels in pieces and scattered around it, wires sticking out, and burn marks decorating the gray box. The motherboard is still intact, but other than that it’s completely busted. Kneeling down in front of it, careful to not sit on any broken panel pieces, Kenma unplugs the system. The plug is hot.

This isn’t a dream. A stranger actually broke into his home, his mother’s beloved gaming console growing up is actually destroyed, and all because of a stupid bootleg game.

 

* * *

 

Two days and one night go by without further bullshit. Kenma is visited by Lev and Hinata, who live in the same apartment complex as him, on the second night. He’s prepared for this, of course: prepared to tell his two only friends about the break-in that happened the other day, but an hour’s already gone by, full of eager news from Lev and Hinata, and Kenma still hasn’t spoken a word about it.

“Yesterday, I accidentally dropped a box on Yaku-san’s foot,” Lev bemoans. He sits on the floor in the main room, leaning back on one hand while the other holds up a popsicle to his mouth.

“Did he threaten to fire you again?” asks Hinata, who is trying to concentrate on playing Smash Bros. on Kenma’s Wii U, but keeps bouncing his criss-crossed legs with excitement. It’s always amusing to watch Hinata get frustrated over the online 1-on-1 For Glory mode, especially since he always seems prone to silly deaths.

“When does he not threaten to fire Lev?” Kenma comments idly while grabbing leftover apple pie from his small (like everything else is in his apartment, aside from Lev) refrigerator.

“Yeah, but he yelled at me in front of a customer! The guy--”

“No! How did that even happen?” Hinata exclaims, jamming his thumbs into the GameCube controller with even more force than before as his character respawns. “Kenma, help me, please! I’m getting my ass kicked, even though I picked Roy!”

“Just spam down-throw and up-B,” Kenma drawls through a mouthful of delicious apple pie. “Or play an easier character.”

“Zero Suit Samus is pretty easy,” Lev pipes in. Kenma smacks his hand before he can steal a piece of his pie. “The customer Yaku-san yelled at me in front of was dressed pretty weird, though. Kind of like a fantasy character!”

“They were probably a cosplayer, then,” says Kenma.

“Maybe. He didn’t have any money on him…” Lev trails off, looking away.

“Kenma,” Hinata whines. He holds out the controller to Kenma, having lost the match and returned to the character selection screen. “I give up. Please.”

Sighing, Kenma leaves his fork hanging out of his mouth and takes the controller. He chooses a character at random and listens to the others while waiting for the other player to start.

“What was the guy wearing? Was it anime?” Hinata asks, getting up and grabbing a popsicle for himself from Kenma’s freezer.

“I guess?” Lev tilts his head and seems to be deep in thought. “He looked super scary and had cool tattoos, like an anime villain or yakuza, or something. He didn’t have a shirt on and was soaking wet when he came into the store, though. Probably got caught in the rain the other night.”

Kenma’s fingers twitch.

“Don’t eat all of my ice cream,” he says offhandedly around the fork in his mouth. He tells himself that the customer wasn’t Kuroo, that there’s no way it’s him. Kuroo was just a burglar making excuses, not actually someone lost. There’s absolutely no way Kenma could have accidentally summoned the final boss from a bootleg game.

He can’t help but worry, though. What if the guy was out on the streets now, in a whole new and foreign world, all because of him?

Kenma’s so wrapped up in thought that he loses the match.

“Aw, I was sure you’d be able to beat ‘em,” says Hinata. “Are you okay, Kenma? You look distracted.”

“I’m fine, Shouyou. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, setting his fork back onto his plate of apple pie.

“Kenma-san, that’s a lie! I’ve never seen you lose before!” Lev chimes in. Both Hinata and Lev are looking at him with concerned expressions.

“Well…” Kenma doesn’t know if it would be worth telling them, since he might never see Kuroo Tetsurou ever again, but for now he wants to. For once, he wants to share his experiences and concerns with his friends. “I think someone tried to break into my apartment.”

Lev and Hinata are practically yelling in his face within a second. Though they quickly quiet down for Kenma, they bombard him with questions like “When? How? What happened? Are you okay?” and just make weird noises of curiosity.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Kenma says again. He feels uncomfortable that they’re having such a big reaction to it, like always, but being friends with Lev and Hinata means having them constantly double-team you with their never-ending excitement and curiosity, so it’s nothing new. “They didn’t rob anything, really. I don’t even know how they got in.”

“But don’t they know your address now?” asks Lev.

“I don’t know. He looked lost.” Kenma looks away from the two younger boys, waving off their concerns. Even though he’d been worried, himself, he only knows how to treat it like it isn’t a big deal around his friends. “I’m pretty sure he just mistook my apartment for another. It’s fine.”

He shouldn’t lie, he knows. He was so ready to spill everything to Lev and Hinata, but now that the moment’s finally arrived, he can’t. His mind keeps going back to Lev’s story of the strange customer, back to naturally mischievous eyes that tried to portray nothing but warmth, back to his mother’s busted game console, which had been destroyed with a loud bang and invited in a stranger without any evidence of entrance on his one window in the main room or the apartment door.

“Well, if he comes by again, call us up,” Hinata says, offering a thumbs-up and an encouraging grin. Lev joins in with his own bright smile. “We’ll make sure you stay safe, Kenma!”

Kenma can’t help the small smile that makes its way onto his lips. He’s only known Hinata and Lev for barely a year, and yet they cared more about him than he ever expected.

 

* * *

 

 

It isn’t long until Lev and Hinata leave, bidding just-above-indoor-voices farewells. They promise to come by Kenma’s apartment again sometime during the week, as they always do, for both study help and to play more video games with Kenma. Even though they’re a year below him in university, he’s grateful (and sometimes a little irritated) that they take initiative to see him.

Looking at the broken game console in the corner, Kenma lets out a huge sigh he’s been holding for far too long. He doesn’t know if he can get the old console repaired or not, considering the protective walls are in pieces. It puts him off just thinking of going out and finding a shop that’ll fix it. He has to get it fixed, though. It’s far too important to him--probably more important to him than to his mother--for him to just throw it out at this point.

Whatever, Kenma thinks. It’s not like he’s going to get it repaired right now. It’s too late for that.

It’s not, however, too late to play Bloodborne.

Kenma doesn’t know how long he plays the game for; he’s too focused on grinding and leveling up his Arcane to notice that he’s been playing well past midnight. It’s not like he’s got a class tomorrow, though. The only thing that pulls him from the gruesome virtual world is the sound of light rapping on his apartment door.

As Kenma stands to open the door, he glances at his microwave’s clock. 2:44 in the morning, it reads. He can feel his heart accelerate and his feet hesitate, nearly tripping in the narrow hallway leading to the front door. There shouldn’t be anyone knocking on his door at nearly three in the morning, it’s too late for anyone to be out and about. Even the rush of traffic outside Kenma’s apartment complex has quieted down, so there’s no way it’s just a matter of convenience.

It’s either another robber or a friend, maybe. Another risky situation Kenma just doesn’t want to deal with.

Shakily, Kenma opens the door, his hand tensing on the door handle in case it is a robber. Peeking around the door as he opens it slowly, his eyes lock onto a shockingly familiar figure kneeling in front of the doorway. It elicits the same heart-stopping response it did the other night.

It’s not Hinata or Lev at his door, nor is it his next door neighbours Nekomata and Oikawa. No, it was someone with messy, dripping black hair that still stuck up in odd angles; someone with a bare, soaking chest decorated with few tattoos. Someone panting with a couple nasty bruises littering his back, his head lolling with difficulty as he tries to look up properly at Kenma. Someone Kenma had the displeasure of meeting two days ago, now kneeling at his front door and looking desperate.

The hand Kuroo was knocking against the door grips the door frame, and Kenma sees that his knuckles are scraped and red. God, Kenma hates how he can do nothing but stand stock-still while there’s an injured man at his door, whether the man is a risk or _at_ risk. He feels so guilty as he realizes that _he_ did this. He sent a lost and confused stranger out into an unfamiliar city without thought for his wellbeing. Even if this is all a charade, even if this man might kill him, Kenma hates himself for not showing an inch of hospitality.

“I’m sorry…” comes a feeble mumble from Kuroo. He keeps his head down, now refusing to look up at Kenma. “I don’t know where else to go.”

For a while, Kenma doesn’t know what to say. The silence is filled with Kuroo’s laboured breathing while Kenma ponders. His instincts are screaming for him to take this man in, patch up his knuckles and any other injuries, lend him a shower and towels and warm clothes. But Kenma was raised up smart as well as kind, and he doesn’t know which life lesson to follow right now. His mother taught him to be both wary of strangers and to be polite to them, but she never told him what to do should he accidentally destroy her childhood gaming console and summon a foreigner in his apartment, especially simultaneously. He’s always prefered that he never interact with strangers, and stuck with that, but now he has to make a decision.

“Can you stand?” Kenma asks, extending a surprisingly steady hand down to Kuroo.

Kuroo’s head snaps up. He looks up at Kenma with wide eyes--wide, bronze eyes, Kenma notes-- and the hand holding the door frame shakily lifts up to meet Kenma’s. Kuroo’s hand is cold.

Kenma guides him into the apartment by the hand, slow and careful, making sure to gently close the door behind them. Rainwater rolls off of Kuroo, dripping onto the wood of the hallway floor quietly. Kenma purses his lips at the thought of having to clean that later, but further ignores it and leads Kuroo to the small bathroom connected to the narrow hallway.

He lightly pushes Kuroo down to sit on the lid of the toilet, his weight dropping down onto it gratefully with a sigh. Kuroo looks up at him, but Kenma can’t read his expression, so he looks away from Kuroo to the bath and shower right next to the toilet, turning on the hot water without a word.

They stay silent, Kuroo leaning back against the porcelain toilet and Kenma crouching in front of him next to the tub. Kenma doesn’t know how long neither of them speak for, doesn’t count the seconds or minutes, rather watching hot water fill the bathtub slowly. He hears Kuroo’s breathing even out as the time passes, though, and when Kenma glances to him, his eyes are closed and his head is tipped back. He looks peaceful, Kenma thinks. He can’t let Kuoo sleep, however, so he breaks the silence with words that come out softer than intended.

“What happened?”

Kuroo hums, not opening his eyes or moving. “Where do you want me to start?” he says just as lowly.

Kenma thinks for a moment. “Where did you go after I…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, faltering. After he, what? Inconsiderately kicked out a helpless person?

“I walked around looking for some rental owls to fly back home on, but when I asked people they either gave me a dirty look or directed me to companies that showcased owls for birthday parties,” replies Kuroo.

“What do you mean by rental owls, then?”

“Giant owls that you can rent to fly on for a bit.” Kuroo’s head lolls to the side, and he sounds considerably more sleepy with each word. “Apparently Tokyo isn’t like back home. Everything’s so busy and crowded, I kept getting lost. Tokyo is weird.”

“Don’t fall asleep,” Kenma says as he shuts off the water once the tub is filled to a considerable height. “I’m...sorry,” he mutters, looking down at the water nervously. “I shouldn’t have sent you out there alone.”

Kuroo shakes his head, blinking his eyes open at Kenma slowly. “It was reasonable. I’m not what you consider normal in this world, am I?”

This time it’s Kenma’s turn to shake his head. He still doesn’t look up from the bathtub as he asks, “What was your home like?”

“Mmm...paranoid,” Kuroo drawls. “Sure, the scenery was beautiful and all, but the villagers were shitty. They were so scared of anything non-owl related that they would toss innocent people off high trees and burn them at stakes.”

Kenma sighs in defeat, finally looking up at the other. That’s exactly what happens in the game.

“So, should I put on a show or are you going to leave me to undress?” Kuroo says, smirking weakly down at Kenma. He feels his cheeks heat up, but Kenma rolls his eyes.

“Depends. You might fall asleep and drown in the tub. Well--uh--I mean, I won’t look, of course. It’s up to you, but…” He bitterly hates how red his face probably is. He can’t believe he’s getting flustered in front of a video game character--and it’s not even a character from a dating sim.

Kuroo chuckles lowly. “No worries, man, it’s fine. You might wanna move over, though.”

Kenma nods, standing quickly while Kuroo lifts himself up off the toilet in front of him slowly. “I’ll just go grab you some clothes while you get in,” he mutters.

It’s only a few seconds later, when Kenma has left the tiny bathroom and enters the main room, that he realises none of his clothes will fit Kuroo’s large frame. Which means he’ll have to ask someone taller for a shirt and pants, and at three in the morning, too. Jittery nervousness builds in the pit of his stomach at the thought.

With legs that feel colder than they were before, Kenma walks out of the apartment, leaving the door open in case Kuroo slips trying to get into the bathtub, or something. Hesitantly, he knocks on his immediate neighbour’s door, to the right of his own apartment. The silence Kenma waits in is unsettling, and he thinks, maybe they’re not home. Maybe they’ll refuse. No matter how many times he gulps, the tension in his throat only gets stronger as the seconds tick by.

The door opens a few minutes later, a sleepy head of brown hair peeking around the door, their other hand rubbing the drowsiness out of their eyes.

“Oh? Kenma-chan, what are you doing awake at this time?” Oikawa yawns through the hand that was previously rubbing his eyes. “Is everything okay?”

Kenma nods. “I--sorry for waking you up so late. I was, uh...is it alright if I borrow some clothes of yours?” Kenma stutters out quietly. “I have a guest staying over and none of my clothes will fit him…”

Oikawa blinks, processing the request in his sleepy mind, before smiling warmly down at Kenma. “Sure thing. Do you need pyjamas or day clothes?”

“Py-pyjamas are fine…” Kenma says so softly he’s not even sure Oikawa heard him.

Oikawa, however, nods and turns back into his own apartment (similar to Kenma’s), leaving the door open. Kenma peers around the door and watches as Oikawa shuffles around the apartment, carrying around a pile of simple clothes that he adds onto whenever he finds another clean shirt or pair of pants. He comes back to the front door a few moments later, presenting two pairs of shirts and pants to Kenma.

“Are these alright?” asks Oikawa, smile still in place. “Let me know if you need more, ‘kay?”

“Thank you,”  Kenma mutters, taking the pile of unevenly folded pyjamas from him and bowing his head down briefly. “I promise I’ll wash and return them soon.”

“Take your time, Kenma-chan. Sweet dreams!”

Returning back to his own apartment quietly, Kenma knocks gently on the door frame of the open bathroom door before looking inside. Kuroo is sitting inside the filled tub, some water droplets decorating the rim and next to the tub on the floor. He looks relaxed in the hot water, muscles looser than earlier, a blissful look resting upon his face. It’s a comforting sight, Kenma realizes in the back of his mind. At least the man looks to be much better and content than when he showed up before.

“Yo,” Kuroo greets, eyes opening, lazy and cat-like, looking up at Kenma with his mouth slightly upturned. “I don’t suppose you have any bubble bath, do you? Those are always fun.”

Kenma shakes his head, resolutely not looking at a very naked Kuroo anymore as he sets one pair of alien-printed pyjamas on the lid of the toilet, as well as a clean white towel.

“Boo,” Kuroo whines comically. Kenma almost looks over at him, astounded at how quickly he can joke after all that’s happened. “What time is it, by the way?”

Looking over his shoulder and to the hallway, Kenma sees that it’s now 4:20 AM. When he informs Kuroo, the man whistles from the bathtub.

“That’s late. Don’t you have a bedtime, mister?”

Kenma huffs. “I’m twenty years old. Besides, I’m the one actually living on their own here, instead of in an inherited castle.”

“Touché.” The quirk of Kuroo’s lips has evolved into a self-satisfied smirk. Kenma sits against the opposing wall facing the toilet, a bit away from the bathtub, still refusing to look at Kuroo for more than a second. “But I’m still a year older than you, so respect your elders.”

In all honesty, Kenma hadn’t expected the notorious final boss to be so young. What was a twenty-one-year-old doing, running around, damaging villages? He supposes age wouldn’t really matter in a fantasy RPG, but somehow, deep in Kenma’s mind, this new information about Kuroo makes him seem more...human, he guesses.

“Oh, yeah, I never caught your name,” Kuroo remarks offhandedly. They both glance at each other.

“Right, sorry,” Kenma mutters, looking back down as he drags his folded legs to his chest. “It’s Kenma. Kozume Kenma.”

“Kenma, huh...” Kuroo hums. Looking pleased, he leans back against the tub, closing his eyes once again. “Nice to meet you, Kenma. Please take good care of me.”

Kenma looks at Kuroo again, for perhaps the tenth time since he came back to the bathroom, but this time he can’t look away. The atmosphere is so slow, warm, drowsy, at such a late time, and it noticeably drugs them both. He, himself, feels his own eyelids start to droop as he says, “Don’t fall asleep.”

“Mhmm,” is all that comes from Kuroo.

“Seriously,” Kenma murmurs, his eyelids glued together now, refusing to open obediently. “You’ll prune up and drown.”

He hears a soft snort of laughter from the tub, as well as, “Alright, alright.” Nothing happens for several minutes, though, the only sounds in the apartment being their calm breathing and Kenma’s abandoned game, both faint and lulling them to sleep even more. He was so nervous, so anxious and afraid not even an hour ago, and now he’s falling into the warm embrace of sleep next to the guy who started this whole mess. Kenma’s drowsy mind can’t focus on one thing, and while he is aware how dangerous this is for both him and Kuroo, several other unrelated things flicker through his head as he tries to stay conscious. Was his Arcane at ten or eleven when he left Bloodborne alone earlier? Maybe he’ll play Animal Crossing tomorrow, or whenever he wakes up. The ending to the last movie he watched, which he can’t even remember the name of right now, was total bullshit. His fire resistance in a certain MMO is also bullshit. The soundtrack from it was pretty good, though. Maybe he should look it up.

A shocking splash surprises him from his haziness, making him jump with air catching in his throat from a gasp. Kuroo is gripping the bathtub’s rim when Kenma’s head snaps up, coughing up water with his eyelids squeezed together tightly, his hair soaked and more strands hanging in front of his face than usual.

Kenma jumps into action immediately, grabbing the white towel sitting on the toilet and handing it to Kuroo. He watches with bated breath and fluttering hands, not sure whether to help or not as Kuroo wipes his face with the towel and blows his nose into it, still hacking horribly. Kenma awkwardly pats Kuroo’s wet upper back, making sure to avoid the bruises and trying to relieve him at least a bit. It’s not very helpful, but it’s all that Kenma can think of to do right now.

“Fuck. You were right,” Kuroo says between coughs when he’s no longer dry drowning. He laughs along with coughing and talking, and it confuses Kenma how this guy can find a near-death experience funny. Bronze eyes look up at Kenma as Kuroo holds up his hand, his fingertips covered in wrinkles. “I’m all pruney, too.”

Kenma huffs a sigh, taking Kuroo’s hand and helping him up while Kuroo wraps the towel around his hips with his other hand. He leaves Kuroo to the pyjamas he set out and walks back into the hallway. He should probably offer Kuroo food, too. Kenma thinks about what to make while opening and glancing around inside his fridge.

There’s a reason why Kenma’s never really taken care of another human being before, he knows, and it’s because his hospitality skills are shit. He doesn’t even know if he should cook a full-out meal (not that he knows how to cook many meals), or just give Kuroo rice and call it a night.

“Have you eaten at all since you left?” Kenma questions as Kuroo steps out of the bathroom. He’s wearing a grey t-shirt with an alien’s head stitched over the left breast and black pyjama pants printed with more green alien heads, as well as the white towel slung over his shoulders. It’s quite the look on what’s supposed to be the big, bad, scary final boss of a fantasy RPG.

Kuroo emits a low hum as he thinks, rubbing his neck with the towel. “Just a chocolate bar someone offered me last night,” he admits.

“Instant ramen or rice?” Kenma asks.

“Ramen, please and thanks.”

A comfortable silence falls over them, the atmosphere feeling slow, warm, and milky once more. Kuroo sits at the low coffee table in front of the television, lazily observing the abandoned game of Bloodborne. Meanwhile, Kenma sets about preparing two cups of instant noodles. While he’s waiting for the water to boil, he grabs some bacitracin spray and a few bandages, going back into the main room to set them on the coffee table and then heading back for the ramen. Kuroo looks up at him inquisitively, but doesn’t ask questions.

Minutes later Kenma returns with steaming cups of instant noodles in each hand. He places one of them in front of Kuroo on the table while he settles himself to the left. Kuroo says his thanks and eagerly digs in.

Kenma watches Kuroo as he stuffs his face, eating some of his own ramen too, albeit slower. Kuroo still looks tired, but unlike when he showed up it’s a pleased sort of weariness. Like he’s at peace, content to fall asleep right where he is now. Kenma’s glad.

“You came from a video game,” he says out of the blue.

Kuroo stops slurping up his noodles and looks up at Kenma. He swallows what’s in his mouth (and the noodles dangling from it) and sets his cup down on the coffee table.

“I know.”

“How?” Kenma asks.

“I ran into my creator earlier today,” replies Kuroo, going back to his ramen and speaking through his mouthfuls. “He recognized me pretty quickly, even though I didn’t know him. To be honest, I didn’t believe him at first, when he told me I’m from a bootleg game. Reacted to it pretty badly, actually, so I understand why you acted the way you did when I popped up into your apartment.”

Kenma blinks a little too much, too quickly, before he leans forward, anticipation coursing through his nerves. “Did he know why you were suddenly transported from a game to this world?”

“He said he had his suspicions, but it sounded like a bunch of bullshit.” Kuroo places his cup of ramen back on the table, heaving a satisfied sigh and patting his stomach with a smile on his face. “He asked about you, by the way. I didn’t know your name or anything, so I didn’t tell him about that, but I did tell him about your hair and weird shirt--oh, and a little bit about your reaction. I’m sorry, I was desperate at the time. Said he knew you, though, and to come back here.

“Ah, don’t worry, though,” Kuroo reassures when he sees how Kenma furrows his eyebrows and purses his lips. “I never told him your address. He just knew it, so I thought maybe he was a family member of yours, or something. He said it’s best I come back to you, and that he would come visit in the morning.”

Kenma’s frown only deepens, however, escalating into a scowl that makes Kuroo scratch at the back of his neck sheepishly and smile apologetically. Kenma desperately hopes that he doesn’t have a stalker, that the man claiming to be Kuroo’s creator is someone he actually knows. Maybe it’s Lev (he ran into Kuroo at the convenience store he works in, right?), even though Lev blanks out when presented with just one line of code.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Kuroo repeats, but Kenma still does. “You’re safe; you’ll be okay. I’m here, after all. The feared Kuroo Tetsurou will protect you.”

Kenma hates to admit it, but Kuroo’s smile and intentionally ironic attempt at comfort does its job. He can feel his frown fade away as he sighs.

“Whatever,” he says, placing his mostly-empty ramen cup on the table next to Kuroo’s. He grabs the bacitracin and shuffles closer to Kuroo, gesturing for his hand. Kuroo puts his hand on top of Kenma’s and it’s much warmer than before, much to his relief.

Kuroo flinches when Kenma sprays his knuckles with the bacitracin, but doesn’t make a big deal out of it. He sits quietly and patiently while Kenma carefully applies several small bandages to his scraped knuckles. Kenma only has these brightly-coloured band-aids, not any gauzes, unfortunately.

Kenma continues to attach the bandages as he asks Kuroo how he got the wounds in the first place.

“It took me a bit to find your apartment again,” Kuroo responds, “but on my way here I got blocked by some delinquents who didn’t like how I looked.” He scoffs. “Assholes.”

“Did they give you any other injuries?” Kenma inquires. He sticks on the last bandage to Kuroo’s pinky knuckle and gathers all the peeled-off paper into his cupped hands, standing up to dispose of them in the trash can.

“I don’t think so.” Kuroo wiggles his bandaged fingers. He leans back and props his elbows behind him, flashing Kenma a drained smile. “I did win the fight, after all.”

Kenma doesn’t bother to roll his tired eyes as he dumps the little pieces of paper in the trash.

He keeps an extra, slightly smaller guest futon in his storage closet, in case Hinata sleeps over (Lev being much too tall for the futon). Kenma cleans up and organizes the mess of video games littering the floor in front of his TV and shelves so he can lay the futon there. It proves to be more time-consuming than he expected--too many missing discs and cases--and Kenma just gives up putting effort into it not even halfway through, putting discs into any random case and stacking them on the shelf rather than lining them side-by-side properly. It’s nearly five in the morning, the sun will be coming up soon, and he can’t give a shit about being organized and tidy right now.

He grabs the guest futon from the closet and, with Kuroo’s help, they lay it down between the TV and the coffee table, adding a thin pillow and navy-colour blanket on top.

“I hope you don’t snore in your sleep, Kenma,” says Kuroo, snickering as he settles down in the futon.

“I don’t,” Kenma says in an unintentionally petulant tone. He can’t keep the pout off his lips as he moves to turn off the television and the lights. If Kuroo is always this annoying and teasing, Kenma might as well send him off to live with Lev instead. Even better if it’s without an explanation of the situation, he thinks.

“Kenma?” Kuroo asks once they’re both settled in, only dim light and muffled sounds of the city coming from the window. He sounds tired, but determined to say one last thing before he passes out.

“What?”

“Thanks. For taking me in and feeding me, and stuff.”

“Go to sleep, Kuroo,” Kenma says softly.

“Okay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Kenma’s so tired, so drained, that he falls asleep almost instantly. What’s going on in his life at this moment is probably too much for him to handle. It requires too much effort. But he thinks that maybe he can do it, that maybe he can take care of a final boss from a bootleg game, can get his mother’s old gaming console fixed, find out how to get Kuroo back into his own virtual world. Of course he knows that it’s not going to happen overnight, or even over the course of the week, but maybe if he tries--which he hates doing--and puts effort into it, he can get his peaceful, mostly quiet life back. His life without stupid bootleg games and final bosses named Kuroo Tetsurou living with him.

It can’t be harder than Dark Souls, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

On most days Kenma wakes up to silence. Sometimes he wakes up to the sound of rain gently hitting the window above his futon, or the background noise of the television still on. Sometimes he wakes up to texts from his friends or his mother. They’re all quiet starts to quiet days.

Today, however, he wakes up to muffled curses and what sounds like cooking utensils hitting the ground.

“Shit, fuck. Shit, shit, shit, shit-- _ow!_ ”

Kenma reluctantly opens his eyes with a sigh. Ah, he thinks. What happened last night wasn’t just a dream.

“What are you doing?” Kenma asks, staring at Kuroo from his futon.

Kuroo looks up as he cradles his foot, a sheepish smile on his face. “Morning, sleepyhead. Was just, uh, making some...breakfast.” He looks back at the kitchenette, smile turning bitter and resentful. “I have no fuckin’ clue what any of this does, though.”

“Why didn’t you just wake me up?” Kenma mumbles as he sits up and rubs at his weary eyes.

“Kind of wanted it to be a thank-you gift. Breakfast in bed, y’know?”

Kenma’s eyes stare at Kuroo through their sleepy droopiness. He’s pretty speechless, and who can blame him; someone who’s supposed to be the villain of a video game is trying to make him breakfast in bed, as if they’re an old married couple and didn’t have anxiety-filled first meetings.

“What?” Kuroo says, his own eyes blinking back confusedly at Kenma. “Did--did you want me to leave?” He gestures toward the door behind him. “Because I can. Just thought you’d want something to eat when you woke up.”

Kenma shakes his head, standing up from his futon. He makes his way slowly to where Kuroo stands in the hallway at the kitchenette, feet shuffling along the floor tiredly. Kuroo backs away from the counter, letting Kenma take a look at the eggs he’s trying to boil.

“You didn’t have to do this,” Kenma says while he sets the small stove to the right temperature. He yawns, big and long, too tired to remember to cover his mouth. Though he’ll never admit it, he’d rather Kuroo stay when his apparent creator visits. “Besides...you could’ve started a fire.”

Kuroo pouts, upper lip protruding out and brows furrowing. “I’m just trying to be a good guy.”

“Surprising, coming from a villain,” Kenma says aloud. He doesn’t mean to say it, but oh well.

“I may be a bad guy, but I’m not a _bad guy_ , you know.”

Kenma snorts in a disbelieving manner. In truth, he’s really not sure what to believe: the Kuroo that burned down villages, or the Kuroo who was nothing but respectful to Kenma since he appeared in a world that wasn’t his own.

“Go sit at the table while I finish these,” Kenma instructs him as he grabs bread and butter for the meal.

The morning is relatively quiet now. They don’t really talk while Kenma cooks breakfast; Kenma only asks what Kuroo would like to drink, to which Kuroo replies with just whatever he’s having. Just chocolate milk, it is.

Kenma takes this time to reflect on what housing a supposedly evil villain will do to his life. Obviously, if Kuroo wants to stay at Kenma’s apartment, he’ll have to get a job and pay for his half of the rent. But that’ll mean Kenma will have to show him the ropes and maybe even supervise him, piling another job on top of his freelance beta-testing. He’ll also have to get more than he usually buys from the grocery store. And there’s the matter of buying more clothes and more laundry to do...there’s so much work to do.

“What’s wrong?” Kuroo asks when Kenma brings the food to the coffee table. He’s sitting on the guest futon in front of the television, which Kenma wishes he wasn’t so that they could watch T.V. and avoid small talk. When Kenma throws a quick questioning glance in Kuroo’s direction, he explains, “You were making a frowny face.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Kenma counters.

“You were. See: you’re pouting right now!”

“I’m not.”

“Are too.”

“Am _not._ ” Kenma glares. Kuroo’s smug grin only makes him pout more. “I was only thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” asks Kuroo.

Ignoring him, Kenma sets to work on eating his food. He doesn’t have much of an appetite, considering he ate maybe a few hours ago, but he eats anyway. His mother and elderly neighbour, Nekomata, constantly remind him of how he should eat more.

Kuroo hums and says his thanks, digging into his own plate of food with the same enthusiasm as last night--or, well, earlier this morning. The pang of guilt Kenma feels is hard to ignore. He’s still regretful about kicking someone in need of aid out onto the streets.

“Are your pants safe to put in the washing machine?” Kenma asks, remembering that the pants are still sitting on the bathroom floor.

Kuroo takes a minute, chewing on his toast and staring at Kenma from across the table before asking, “What’s a washing machine?”

Kenma purses his lips. This is going to take _so much_ effort that he doesn’t want to use.

“Nevermind,” Kenma mutters as he turns back to his food with disappointment. “I’ll just let them soak.”

Kuroo still looks confused, but the expression disappears when he goes back to gobbling down his own food, already nearly finished.

There shouldn’t be domesticity after such confusing events, Kenma thinks. Kuroo should be back home, a bunch of pixels and no mind of his own, not a fully-fleshed, warm human being. Kenma shouldn’t be babysitting a final boss, rather playing games and defeating final bosses like he usually does. He knows that Kuroo is a cat-like human, rather than an owl-praising human in the game, but there was no backstory given. Why would a cat bell corrupt the game and summon a living, breathing villain from nothing but a console? All the confusion makes Kenma’s head hurt.

The sound of his doorbell ringing snaps Kenma out of his thoughts. He can only hope that it’s Kuroo’s creator, ready to take him back home, or his friends, Lev probably willing to house Kuroo instead. He gets up to answer the door, Kuroo watching him with his body tensed, ready to get up as well. Kenma dismisses his protectiveness with a wave. His apartment is tiny; the front door isn’t far away at all.

Kenma reaches the front door, takes a deep breath, and opens it. He’s ready for some creep who probably found Kuroo and made up a story, ready for Lev or Hinata’s greeting embraces. He’s not ready for a wrinkled face that he can recognize in an instant.

“Yo, Kenma-kun.” Nekomata grins on the other side of the doorway, holding up his hand in a V-sign. “Have you been taking good care of Tetsurou?”

Kenma, in his baffled state, can only muster a “Nekomata-san?” as Nekomata lets himself in. Kenma steps aside without another word, watching as the elder makes his way to the main room casually, as if he’s been in Kenma’s apartment a thousand times.

“That was rude, old man,” Kuroo comments with his mouth full of boiled egg.

“We’re neighbours: it’s fine!” Nekomata waves his hand in a dismissive gesture, sitting down at the coffee table with his back to the door and a shellshocked Kenma.

Kuroo seems relieved to know that Nekomata is Kenma’s neighbour, and not a stranger. Kenma, however, is still bewildered.

“Kenma-kun, come sit down,” Nekomata calls over his shoulder. “I’ve got a lot of explaining to do, after all.”

Kenma walks over and sits silently. He can feel his toes wiggle in anticipation, but ignores it.

“How did Kuroo get here?” Kenma blurts out, interrupting Nekomata as he is about to speak.

“Straight to the point, then,” says Nekomata, smiling. “Right, I guess I should mention how I really don’t know how _exactly_ you were able to summon him, but I have my suspicions.”

“And those suspicions are..?”

“Spirits! Ghosts, youkai, whatever you wanna call them,” Nekomata says as he steals a sip from Kuroo’s chocolate milk. Kuroo squawks indignantly.

“I told you he spouted bullshit,” Kuroo grumbles while he wipes the rim of his cup with his fingertips.

“I do not! They’re real, I tell you. They granted my wish because I, unlike _someone_ , believe in them,” Nekomata states.

“What did you wish for?” Kenma asks, ignoring their banter and indulging Nekomata.

“I wished to see my creations come to life,” Nekomata says, wiggling his fingers and waving his hands ridiculously. “Of course, I meant seeing them in an actual game of their own, rather than like this, but I can’t complain, really.”

Kenma sighs, big and long, an attempt at calming his agitation.  

“Nekomata-san, I need a legitimate reason,” he says, deciding not to indulge Nekomata any longer.

“That is one!” says Nekomata. “Spirits appear to those who believe in them.”

Kuroo snorts.

“It’s true!”

“We’ll just find the company and ask them about bugs with the system,” Kenma decides, standing up and heading to the kitchenette. “Would you like some tea, Nekomata-san?”

“Ah, yes, please,” Nekomata says.

“Go home, old man,” Kuroo grumbles.

“Can’t I spend time with my dear son?”

“I’m not your son.”

“You’re my creation; you’re pretty close to my son.” Nekomata looks at the watch on his wrist, eyebrows raising in surprise. “Actually, Kenma-kun, I have to go. Gotta go visit my nephew and his kids in a few. But if you’re free in a couple of days, would you like to chat again? I’d like to show you something.”

Kenma turns off the kettle. “Alright.”

“Goodbye, my darling son!” Nekomata reaches over and pinches Kuroo’s cheeks, cooing as Kuroo whines and swats at his hands. “Don’t cause Kenma-kun any trouble, got it?”

“I know, I know! Let go of me! Let go!”

As Nekomata turns to take his leave, he winks at Kenma and says, “If anything else happens, let me know, ‘kay?”

“Sorry,” Kuroo says when Nekomata leaves, rubbing at his cheeks. “You’re really neighbours with that creep?”

Kenma sighs and brings the tea to the table for Kuroo and him to drink instead. “He gives me candy sometimes.”

“That only makes him creepier!”

“Anyway,” Kenma starts while pouring the tea, “I’m going to go visit my mom today to find out where she bought the game console from. I don’t want you to cause any trouble.”

“Mmrph,” is the indignant sound Kuroo makes as he drinks his tea. “What makes you think I’ll cause trouble?”

Kenma gives him a look and Kuroo says, “Fair enough.”

“I’ll leave you with my friend, Shouyou. Don’t get excited or he’ll get excited too,” says Kenma. Kind of like a puppy, he thinks. He likes that about his friend, but he’d rather they be awkward than causing mayhem together.

“Also please don’t tell him where you’re from,” he adds. “If he asks--and only if he asks--say you’re an old friend of mine that came to visit from my hometown.”

Kuroo nods. “You got it, Kenma.”

For some reason, Kuroo saying his name makes him twitch as he gets up and grabs his clothes from his drawer. That was weird. It didn’t happen last night, so why did it happen all of a sudden?

“I’ll grab you some clothes from my neighbour,” he says, turning away, hair covering half his face.

“Not the creepy one, right?” asks Kuroo.

Kenma shakes his head and retreats to Oikawa’s apartment, leaving the door open to his.

He doesn’t feel as much anxiety this time as he did last time. Oikawa hands him day clothes with as much sleepy charm as he did a few hours before (Kenma feels guilty for waking him at such early hours twice, but Kuroo needs the clothes).

His resolve to find out how Kuroo got into this world intensifies, and he makes a promise to himself to return back to his calmer, less ridiculous life that was before Kuroo appeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy holy lord i am so so soooo sorry this took months to update and the update is a measly 2k with no art!! hopefully i won't forget about this fic again and update regularly! i also took off the /6 chapters bc i feel like i owe it to make this fic longer 
> 
> also bc i've been doodling on my tumblr a shit ton instead of writing:  
> http://sugarplumking.tumblr.com/


	3. Chapter 3

Kenma’s mother doesn’t live far away. A twenty minute drive, maybe. Kenma doesn’t particularly like driving, being far too self-conscious, but it isn’t that bad when driving to his mother’s house.

He left Kuroo with Hinata in hopes that they wouldn’t start up too much trouble, but knowing Hinata at least one thing will break--at least.

“Wooahh, so tall!” Hinata had commented  when they showed up at his front door.

“Woah, so short,” Kuroo had mimicked back.

They didn’t get off on the right foot, but eventually Hinata got excited about having someone over, and how Kageyama’s been teaching him how to be a proper host, and ushered Kuroo inside to make him tea.

Kenma doesn’t want to worry about them much, but he can’t help feeling a little bit anxious.

He arrives at his mother’s house in what feels like no time at all. It’s a quaint little place in a quiet little neighbourhood not common in Tokyo. Kenma still remembers how he appreciated the quiet, how he’d be grateful he could listen to his video games with the volume low while playing them. He misses it. He gets homesick from time to time, but he always brushed it off as just his dependance on his mother, told himself he can’t cling to his mother’s skirt and hide behind her anymore. Kenma still very much misses his mother, though.

He knocks on the door, waits a minute or two, and the door opens to reveal his mother, radiant as ever. She smiles when she sees that it’s him and welcomes him inside. He can tell that she’s done some remodelling around the place, as some furniture items and knick-knacks are not where he remembers them. He wishes she didn’t, but he doesn’t really have a say, as he no longer lives here.

No, he lives with the final boss of a bootleg game now.

“Kenma, how have you been doing, honey?” his mother asks as she returns back to the kitchen, washing her hands at the sink before taking chicken out of the freezer and setting up for it to cook.

“Good,” he says. He sits at the kitchen table, watching her cook. “I might have a roommate now.”

“A roommate?” says his mother. “Sweetie, how are you going to house a roommate in that tiny apartment of yours?”

Kenma shrugs. 

“We’ll make it work,” he says. “Mom, do you remember where you bought that game console from?”

“Where I bought the--” Kenma’s mother stops and looks back at him. “Why do you want to know that? You don’t plan on returning it, do you?”

“No, no,” says Kenma, shaking his head. “There’s a bug in the system, and I wanted to see if they could explain it.”

His mother hums as she turns back to the chicken, wracking her brain to see if she remembers where she got the console from.

“I think it was a birthday present,” she says. “I don’t quite remember if it was your grandma who bought it or my aunt Mei. Sorry, sweetie.”

Kenma doesn’t say anything, just nods his head.

Kenma’s mother then pesters him to eat something before he goes, to which Kenma responds with that he already ate plenty this morning. This puzzles his mother, as Kenma never eats  _ plenty _ , but she doesn’t ask, simply grateful that he’s eaten.

He leaves his mother’s house disappointed, but not angry. He’ll just have to find some local tech shop and ask them.

 

* * *

 

“What are you two doing?”

“Watching TV, obviously.”

“That’s not how you watch TV,” Kenma says as he closes the door with his foot and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I’m gonna throw up,” Hinata announces. He gets up from the couch he was laying upside down on and hurries to the bathroom. Kuroo throws his arms up--or down--victoriously, a grin on his red face.

“Get up,” orders Kenma. “Why were you guys laying on the couch like that?”

“Friendly competition,” says Kuroo, rotating himself upright. “I like that kid.”

“I’m relieved, but don’t indirectly kill him.” Kenma sighs. “Come on, we still have to go shopping for new clothes.”

“Aw, bye, Kuroo!” Hinata exclaims from the bathroom door, wiping a hand over his mouth.

“See ya, shrimpy.” Kuroo waves as they leave Hinata’s apartment. “So where we headed to first?”

“The mall,” says Kenma, “then a video game store.”

“Video game store?” Kuroo looks over, confusion written on his face.

“I want the new Dark Souls.”

The look stays on Kuroo’s face, but Kenma ignores it. They walk through the halls of the apartment floor to the elevator. Once they reach it, however, Kuroo stops and glances at it suspiciously.

“What’s that?”

“Transportation,” says Kenma. “Come on.”

Kuroo steps in, but immediately grabs onto Kenma’s arm. It’s just a slight grip on his sleeve, but Kenma’s heart stops for a moment. There’s a noticeable warmth where Kuroo’s hand is, even though it’s only making contact with his sweater and not his skin, but heat spreads there and up Kenma’s neck, travelling up to his face. It’s probably red, Kenma thinks, so he tips his head down to let his hair cascade around his face, efficiently hiding it.

The elevator door closes and Kuroo jumps a bit. As the elevator descends, Kuroo’s grip on Kenma’s sleeve tightens and tightens more. Kenma wants to set his hand on Kuroo’s, tell him it’s fine, but that’s way too embarrassing and Kenma doesn’t have the courage to do so. There’s no way he’s doing that.

Kuroo breathes out a sigh of relief when the elevator doors open again, and they quickly make their way out.

“That was scarier than flying a great horned owl for the first time,” says Kuroo.

“ _ Shh _ ,” Kenma hisses slowly, lowly. He can see Kuroo gulp. “No mentions of the other place while we’re out of the apartment.”

Kuroo nods obediently.  They walk out of the apartment complex side-by-side, occasionally bumping arm and shoulder together. Every time they bump, Kenma’s heart accelerates by a little bit. Together they head to Kenma’s car.

The drive to the mall is not quiet, to say the least. Kuroo keeps fiddling with the radio, and Kenma has to slap his hand away several times. He settles on a station that plays pop songs along with commercials, the volume low. They chat a little on the way.

“So, what are the key things I should know about this world?” Kuroo asks, head turning to look at Kenma, smirk plastered on his face.

“Don’t trust anyone. Except me...probably,” Kenma mutters.

“What do you mean ‘probably?’”

“Rule number two,” Kenma speaks up, “is to never walk on a busy street. Cars could run you over.”

“Why shouldn’t I trust you?” Kuroo asks, eyebrows furrowed.

“Rule number three is to not leave the apartment without notice. Rule number fo--”

“Kenma,” Kuroo says and instantly Kenma stops. Kuroo saying his name still has an effect on him, causing him to jolt in his seat for half a second. He doesn’t look at Kuroo, keeps his eyes forward on the road, unfocused but paying attention, especially to the zooming plains of concrete and white lines. Neither of them say anything for minutes, Kuroo just staring at Kenma from the passenger seat and Kenma resolutely staring ahead. After more moments of silence, though, Kenma relents and sighs.

“I kicked you out on the streets,” he says, quietly, almost inaudible to his own ears. “I was too scared to help. I was a coward.”

“What? Is that all? You had me scared there!” Kuroo beams over at him, grin flashing sharp teeth.

Kenma’s bottom lip protrudes some, eyes glancing between Kuroo and the road in front of him. 

“What do you mean, that’s all? What if I abandon you again?”

“Then I’ll bug the old man until he lets me stay at his place,” says Kuroo, grin settling into a soft smile as he turns his head. “You don’t owe me anything, Kenma. Don’t worry about it.”

Kenma bites his lip. “I’m the one who brought you here, though,” he says.

“And? You didn’t do it on purpose. Besides, taking me in last night was real noble and more than enough.”

Kenma feels a harsh blush creep up his neck and to his face. Kuroo is so embarrassing--how can he just say stuff like that? Praising Kenma when he did the bare minimum. He’s an idiot, really. How can someone put so much blind faith into another? Unless it’s just a guise, and Kuroo really is the villain the game made him out to be. But Nekomata trusts Kuroo, even treated him like a beloved son, so if Kuroo’s own creator trusts him, shouldn’t Kenma? 

He’s so puzzled that he nearly stops too late at a red light. He wants to dwell on it more, but there’s a task at hand, and he needs to buy Kuroo clothes of his own.

They finally arrive at the mall. It was about a twenty minute drive, but felt like eternities on Kenma’s end. Once out of the parking lot and in the big mall, Kenma leads Kuroo through the bustling people, hand pinching the fabric of Oikawa’s black long-sleeved shirt. It makes his heart thump a bit, and his hands go clammy, but he’s too distracted by weaving through the crowd with expertise to pay mind to it. Kuroo, of course, bumps into some people, but that’s inevitable considering his stature.

Soon they find a clothing store, looking not particularly expensive. Kenma drags Kuroo inside, almost immediately heading to where he sees the rack of shirts with motifs on them. There’s more than several, all of them painted with motifs ranging from cute cartoon animals to ‘hardcore MLG’. It’s definitely a unisex store, and one that was meant to sell street fashion, some Harajuku, some European-inspired.

“That looks cool,” Kuroo says, pointing to a t-shirt hanging on the wall with the skeleton of a cat on it.

“Nothing short-sleeved unless they’re pyjamas; you need to hide your tattoos,” Kenma says. He tries not to smile at how Kuroo is drawn to the cat motif first.

“Then that.” Kuroo turns his pointing to a checkered sweater on the same wall as the shirt.

Kenma grabs it from the rack below, picking a few and holding them against Kuroo’s chest to check the size. Kuroo looks down at him bemused, but doesn’t say anything. Kenma finds one that’s about the same size as Kuroo’s torso and tosses it over his positioned left arm.

“What else do you like?” asks Kenma, looking around the store.

Kuroo looks around as well, humming as he does, brows slightly furrowed and lips pursed. His gaze settles on another rack.

“That,” he says, pointing at a black sweatshirt that says ‘who the fuck is Jesus’ in bold white letters.

“I don’t think you should get that,” Kenma says.

“I don’t know who Jesus is, and that’s why I want it,” says Kuroo.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Kenma.”

“You’ll draw attention.”

Kuroo pouts, but moves on.

They gather many articles of clothing easy enough after that. There’s no changing rooms, so they go right ahead to checkout. On the way there, though, Kenma slips a Dank Souls t-shirt onto his arm.

 

* * *

 

It’s seven in the evening by the time they get back home. Kenma is exhausted, laying down on his futon and breathing a sigh of relief. He slips off his socks and wiggles his toes freely. That feels better, he thinks. Being outside is tiring.

“Are you gonna sleep?” Kuroo asks as he closes the door.

“Mmm,” is all that comes from Kenma.

“On an empty stomach?”

“Mmm.”

“In your day clothes?”

“Mm.”

“Y’know, you’ll get your clothes all--”

“Fine, fine,” sighs Kenma. He slowly maneuveres himself up into a sitting position. “What do you want to eat?”

“Anything,” says Kuroo, lying down on his own futon.

“Freeloader,” Kenma grumbles. He gets up and heads to the kitchenette, takes out some more instant noodles, and sets his kettle to boil.

While he waits for the water to boil, he looks over at Kuroo, who, stretched out on his futon, has his hands over his head and his back arched. Like a cat, almost. A sliver of taut stomach appears where Kuroo’s shirt rides up, and Kenma looks away abruptly.

The kettle stops boiling, Kenma makes the noodles, and brings them to the main room. There, he sees that Kuroo is asleep. 

He must have been just as tired, Kenma thinks. He sets the two bowls of noodles on the coffee table. Should he wake up Kuroo? He’d probably be grateful to be woken up, right? He was hungry. Looking down at Kuroo’s face, Kenma pauses in his contemplating. 

Kuroo looks so peaceful. His black bangs swept to the side, eyes sealed shut in tranquility, mouth slightly ajar. If Kenma got closer, he could probably count Kuroo’s eyelashes, or see how chapped his lips are, or maybe count some freckles or scars or beauty marks. Kenma can feel himself getting closer, and Kuroo’s face swallowing more of his vision. Kuroo is beautiful, he realizes. His narrow eyes don’t have long eyelashes, but they’re still beautiful. His nose isn’t petite, nor masculine, but it’s still beautiful. And his lips…they are chapped, and thin, but still kissable.

Kenma abruptly jolts out of his daze, realizing he’s staring at a sleeping man. That’s enough, that’s far too perverse, he thinks. He’s stupid, thinking those things about someone who should just be a batch of pixels. Of course, he’s been attracted to fictional characters before, but it’s different. With Kuroo, it’s complicated. Kuroo is...real, but not at the same time. It’s complicated.

Kenma turns away. He still doesn’t know whether to wake Kuroo up or not. He looks content, at peace, and Kenma doesn’t want to disturb that, but he’s also worried about Kuroo eating.

“Kuroo,” Kenma whispers softly, resting a hand on Kuroo’s shoulder. Still warm, thankfully.

“Kuroo,” he whispers again, this time a little louder, shaking Kuroo gently, ever so gently.

Kuroo still doesn’t stir, completely asleep. Kenma stares down at his sleeping face again, sighing. He picks up the two bowls of noodles, taking them back to the kitchenette. He wraps plastic around them and puts them in the fridge, saving them for tomorrow morning.

He turns to the main room, glancing over at Kuroo for one more long moment before turning off the lights and settling himself in bed. It’s been a long day.

 

* * *

 

Thumbs circle his hips lightly, feeling almost not there, but still sending shivers up Kenma’s spine. The hands those thumbs belong to are calloused, tickling him all the more. The sensations that run just beneath his skin make him feel sensitive, vulnerable, but he’s not scared. No, instead there’s only the light throbbing pain of desire in him.

The hands travel downwards, fingers dancing over Kenma’s thighs. He sucks in a breath, skin feeling prickly, anticipation bubbling up inside of him. He likes it, likes the feeling, wants more of it. He feels warm breaths on the inside of his thigh, and he wants nothing more than skin-on-skin contact there.

He looks down, sees a mess of black hair and a gentle smirk, and he throws his head back and whimpers. The spike of arousal shocks through his body once more. He knew it’d be him down there, somehow.

“Kenma,” he hears, and, god, it sends the same jolt through him as it always does, makes his face burn even more. “Look at me.”

Kenma looks back down, slowly and shyly. Kuroo stares back up at him, letting out a huff as his smile grows. He lowers his head, lips brushing against Kenma’s inner thigh and planting gentle kisses along it. Kenma watches with heavy breaths, as Kuroo makes his way closer and closer to where Kenma wants him to be.

He jerks up, waking from his dream violently. His breathing is laboured, sweat collecting at his forehead and back. Kenma looks down, peers beneath the blanket, and sees his own arousal. He groans, resting his face in his hands. How could he have that kind of dream of Kuroo?

“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” he hears from the kitchenette. “Up for last night’s noodles?”

“Uh…” Kenma panics. His erection has to be noticeable. Fuck. And did he moan in his sleep? What if he did, and Kuroo heard? Fuck, Kenma hopes not.

“I’m just, uh...gonna take a shower first,” he says, gathering his comforter and wrapping it around himself securely. He scuttles to the small bathroom, managing to fit him and the comforter in it and close the door. He’s going to take a very much needed cold shower, and then he’ll forget that stupid dream ever happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this fic decreased in quality and went downhill fast but hopefully(?) i'll be able to update more often if it's short chapters  
> also hey i doodle more on my shitty blog
> 
> sugarplumking.tumblr.com  
> https://twitter.com/sugarplumking


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